


dein bo, dovahkiin

by hostileelf



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Denovan just wants a snack and to go back to sleep, Dovahzul (Elder Scrolls), Mentioned Characters, a little bit of racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostileelf/pseuds/hostileelf
Summary: One-shots and story snippets telling the tale of Denovan Silverstrike, an ex-imperial soldier that constantly feels torn between the Imperials and Stormcloaks, over the years growing jaded to the call of each side as he battles the adversaries to his recently discovered destiny, and tries to understand the dragon soul burning within him.(Timeline may jump all over the place, and I might rewrite a chapter/scene when I think it suits the character better.)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>    
> 

_17th of the Last Seed, Year 201 of the 4th Era._

* * *

Much happened in between the moment the dragon made landing in Helgen and the second I fell to the ground from the shuddering of the very earth caused by such an impact, but I will never forget his eyes. Of his long, protruding spikes of ebony that were unwelcoming and warded off any who strayed too close to his wings, and the mighty crown of imposing horns adorning his head like a king, it was the eyes of spilled blood that had the cold chill of impending doom running down my spine.

Hard, cracked lips peeled back to reveal those menacing teeth upon sharp jowls and framed by a jaw lined with spikes. He looked… Demented - if there were ever a possibility a dragon could make such a face, this was it. The bastard looked _sickeningly pleased_ to see me in a way that only a true maniac would after setting eyes upon his latest victim - and I thought for sure I was done for. I could hear a man, Ralof, the Nord of Riverwood, bellowing at me to take shelter, but my feet felt like lead, and I remained affixed by the dragon’s cold blooded stare.

The abomination released a sound, low and rumbling so deeply that it shook my very _bones_ , then he… _Spoke._ You would think that with the absolute chaos surrounding me, I wouldn’t have heard it, oh but I did, _loud and clear,_ and it awakened something in me that had lied dormant for eons. Something old, something… Intangible, but that which I knew was there, bursting into flames within my chest like a match to an oil pool.

**_“Do… Vah-kiin…”_ **

And as if by some strange force of nature, my fear diminished, my brow hardened, and I felt a new sensation, something hot and… Angry. It was a feeling akin to that of _vengeance,_ as though I were looking into the eyes of my mortal enemy. I couldn’t even begin to explain it in a way that makes sense, but seeing this big monstrous beast made me feel a fury that was so deeply rooted and instinctual, it had my jaw clenching and teeth ricketing against each other.

The dragon sneered at me one last time, then turned his enormous head aside and opened his maw to release an inferno from his throat. I would’ve been swept up in the flames and cooked, had a broad hand not gripped my shoulder so tightly that it _hurt_ and dragged me into the safety of the nearest tower. The haze of red over my eyes dissolved into a blur of solemn gray and blazing oranges until I could hear a door slam shut and my back was thrusted into the hard surface of the nearest wall. A wheezing grunt flew from my lungs in response to the sudden impact, but the Stormcloaks I was suddenly faced with didn’t seem to care if I suffocated or not.

Ralof hissed in my face with a dark snarl, gripping the lapels of my light armor in white-knuckled fists as if he were going to tear it to shreds. “You’re _lucky_ I don’t knock the teeth out of your half-blooded head, traitor… But my sense of kinship keeps me from letting one of my own die - even if only halfhearted and _undeserving._ ”

I had never taken kindly to being called _half-blooded_ , it was redundant and stupid to bring up in such a pressing and inappropriate time, but other than my venomous sneer I was in no place to argue when I was surrounded by blue-cloaks leering hatefully at me. “How _kind,_ ” I hissed back, as though the two of us were bickering Khajiits. “Perhaps you should’ve just let me burn if you were going to be coarse about it, _kinsman._ I would’ve preferred the dragon than an unwarranted tongue-lashing.”

“Oh, trust me, I have half a mind to kick you back out,” dark amusement pulled at his wheat blonde beard until his lip was curled cruelly. “I’m sure the dragon would have _much more_ to say than I do.”

“That’s enough.” The voice of reason came with the deep timbre of Ulfric Stormcloak himself, flattened next to the window and peering out at the chaos outside, grayed eyes flickering uneasily as if to seek out danger. He affixed the two of us with a deep scowl, Ralof especially, much to my silent satisfaction. “A kinsman is a kinsman, no matter half or full. But that matters not, we need to get out of this burning city before it comes down on top of us.”

Despite being quite the menace to Skyrim the man was well spoken and had a point. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“Shut your mouth!” Ralof spat, shoving me hard against the wall and sending flecks of spit against my cheeks, I just winced snarled back at him. I was also a Nord, I could be just as ferocious of a wolf as this fiend was, but I was also a smooth-talking Imperial that preferred to avoid bloodshed if it was within my power. “We’ll ask for your input when we _need it,_ boot licker!”

I wanted to input where he could shove _his_ boot, but bit my tongue when Ulfric once again intervened, placing a commanding hand on Ralof’s shoulder and shoving the younger man back. “I said _that’s enough!_ ” Even without the Voice he was rumored to have, his words still held power and demanded respect, sending the entire room to its knees in submission. I, however, only winced, hearing naught but the voice of another surly war commander I’d grown so accustomed to and jaded against over my deployment.

“We need to move,” Ulfric paused, and looked at all of us, the Stormcloaks, who shrank and shuddered in pain from their burns, Ralof, who turned his gaze away with a prideful wrinkle of his nose, and myself, braced against the wall with my chest heaving deeply, brow low in defiance. His frown was deep and set in stone, it made me wonder if it had been carved permanently like that. He had reason to look that way, as the dragon outside swooped over head and rattled the foundations of the tower with the powerful gust of wind it kicked up, remind all of its power and killing capabilities with a blood curdling roar, Ulfric realized that now was not the time for racial divides. _“Now!”_

He shouted the command, and that seemed to finally set Ralof into a more productive mindset. With a disdainful glance my way with those too-blue eyes, he beckoned me to follow him. “Up through the tower, this way! Hurry up, boot licker!”

“Stop calling me that, you mangy yellow dog!” I barked back, bounding up the steps of the tower two at a time to reach the top. I had to get back outside and help defend the townspeople before I was called out for deserting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll never let anyone not hear about my theory that the beef between the dragonborn and alduin was way more personal than bethany esda lead on. for denovan, it's instinctual, because it was rooted in him from the day he was born - it's his destiny to slay alduin, after all. so when he first saw his arch nemesis, it really awakened his dragon soul and needing to get revenge on alduin became second nature to him, the guy takes it really personally, for a reason he can't yet explain but will be justified later on.


	2. Chapter 2

_Unknown date, sometime after Alduin's defeat._

* * *

Sitting atop a frigid mountain with a frost encrusted beard in the light of a campfire alongside the maroon scales of a powerful dragon was not where I’d imagined myself when I swore my life to end the dragon crisis. Befriending Odahviing had taught me much - that this was less a _crisis_ and more of a misunderstanding paired with cruel dictatorship and the ambition of the powerful. I was as much of a dragon as I was a Nord or Imperial - and I accepted them as my own, should they have me… Which, none of them did, still loyal to the World-Eater as it may, but there was no helping them. I had yet to learn how to negotiate with an angry dragon as skillfully as I could slay one.

“You have the appearance of a sick bear, Zeymah.” 

The low rasp of Odahviing’s voice had an undertone of teasing to it, and I caught on easily, affixing the amused dragon with a side eye. His wings shook with the soft huff of breath that could’ve been interpreted as a chuckle, and he was back to staring at the fire.

“Dedicating half a year to defeating your arch nemesis will do that to you, my big red friend,” I retorted, reaching up to scratch at the itchy scruff roughening my jawline. I could only imagine what I looked like in the mirror - probably like more of a begger than an esteemed thane. 

“Hmm,” Odahviing purred throatily, tilting his head down to watch me with warm amber eyes. I could feel the thickness of his leg shift behind me and the snow groan underneath him as he moved to splay out further, leaning his weight on one of his wings as a man might lying on his side. “Your dedication has paid off… But I can tell that you have lost, hmm… Mulaag do sil.”

The ancient words curled into my ears, and the instinctual knowledge I carried courtesy of my dragon soul allowed me to translate the words as I would do to learn a new Shout. I blinked at the meaning, and craned my neck to look up at him in question. “What do you mean, strength of heart?”

Odahviing looked just as perplexed by his own words as I was, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle to grasp the correct translation. “Hin… Hi los… Mmh… You are… Slowing down, I suppose. Since you have banished fin lien naak, it is as though you… Sizaan fen. As though you think you have lost your… Purpose, if you will.”

I just frowned - dammit, I hated it when he was right. Though I wanted to add that I wasn’t going to merely lie down and die now that my destiny has been fulfilled, and I still plan on serving Balgruuf should he have need of me, I knew he was right. My life would soon fall into a routine once more - the thrill of adventure would devolve into fetch quests for the Jarl and killing only to pay taxes on my house and keep the food on the table. I kept good company, Lydia (may she drink merrily in Sovngarde) had been right to suggest I procure an ensemble. Mjoll, Kharjo, Erandur, and Faendal all kept my home feeling less empty, but since we would no longer be embarking on some life-threatening adventure, it felt somewhat pointless… Where was the thrill in clearing the same bandit encampments? Nothing would ever compare to that life-changing journey the five of us endured to save the world…

I offered a soft sigh in response, eyes trained so deeply on the campfire that the light was burned into my sight. “You’re not wrong.”

“Hmm… One day, there will be need of the Dovahkiin again.” My dovah companion tried to reassure me.

“When bandits refill the toll bridge, yeah.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“I know…” I breathed out, rubbing my face. “But that remains to be seen. For now, I’ll just have to bide my time.”

“Mmh. Dein bo, Dovahkiin.” Odahviing rumbled sagely.

“You always say that, but I never understand its meaning…” I turned my body to look at him with a squint.

“It is… Difficult to explain, in your language, many meanings,” the dragon looked up at the night sky thoughtfully, teeth grimacing against the words of men. “It could mean to… Stay in flight, as dovah. But for men, I suppose, it could mean to… Stay on your feet, if you will. Keep moving.”

“... Hm.” I blinked, taking those words to heart with a thoughtful turn of my head back to the campfire. “Bo dein…”

A beat of silence passed between us, only filled by the soothing ambiance of crackling fire, the wind that whispered atop the Throat of the World, and Odahviing’s gentle, rattling breaths. A wise dragon he was, even as young as he claimed to be (in comparison to Alduin and Paarthurnax, that is), his input would always be sought when necessary. I wondered if he would still be at my side if I ever needed him - he had been my ally at the tail end of the dragon crisis, and though never joined in the fight, swore allegiance to me as brothers. _Zeymah,_ he called me on occasion. His loyalty was every appreciated, and I would respect him forever as my equal, as my _brother_ … Yet it did not feel respectful to _use him_ in the way it felt like I had. Odahviing had come to my aid when I called to him, but I had never come to _his_ aid,

“Odahviing,” I spoke, summoning the dragon’s attention away from the clear skies. “Since I can shout your name and summon you from wherever you might be - would it be possible for you to do the same?”

“... Zu’u zaan hi?” He blinked, visibly pondering over the question. “... Hmm, yes… But Dovahkiin is not your true dovah name. It is… A title, as it were.”

“Huh.” 

“I will have to give you a name… A name that, mmh, portrays who you are.” The red one explained, very intensely dragging his eyes over me - but not looking at _me_ , looking _into_ me. “You are… Middovah. Friend of dragons, and honored warrior - you have proven yourself a valued ally. I will call you Fronkendov.”

_Friend warrior._ I just raised a brow and cracked a smile at the absurdity of the name… The straight forwardness was silly, yes, but there was also something charming about it, something that made me deeply appreciate my ally. I could sense that he selected the name from his heart - he respected me as a warrior and as a friend, thus it came to him as though it were second nature.

“It does not fit?” Odahviing questioned, interpreting my smirk as something negative.

“No… It does, it’s just interesting to hear your view of me,” I chuckled in admittance.

“Hmm,” Odahviing relaxed, and if he could, he would be smiling. “You must learn your name, Fronkendov, else I will be shouting on deaf ears.”

“I know it now, don’t I?”

“No, you do not,” the dragon rumbled, amused by my lack of knowledge. “You must learn it as you would your Thu’um, and understand it in your soul. When I summon you, you are not hearing me with your ears, you are hearing me from within.”

“... Hm, okay.” I nodded. _Makes sense._ _“... Fron-kendov.”_

Something within me stirred, and it reminded me of that day in Helgen, the moment the dragon within me awoke at the sight of my destined nemesis. It was as though… The name truly belonged to me, as the responsibility of killing Alduin had, and the title of Dragonborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let (clap emoji) odahviing (clap emoji) and (clap emoji) the dragonborn (clap emoji) be (clap emoji) good (clap emoji) bros   
> i've always wondered by the dragons can't summon the dovahkiin since dovah-kiin IS technically a dragon name, and yes the greybeards did summon them onto high hrothgar, but i have a theory that dragon-born is just a _title_ and not a true _name_. ~~this is definitely not an excuse to further integrate my dragonborn oc further into dragon culture because DAMMIT the dragonborn in canon deserved to be welcomed into dragon society.~~ i also just really wanted to write about denovan and odahviing hanging out, they would have a lot of philosophical conversations together i just know it.


End file.
